


At least you got something out of it

by TerresDeBrume



Series: The one where Alec & Magnus are cis women [1]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Rewrite, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Downworlders’ parties suck. It’s a universal fact, and getting a hot girl’s number doesn’t change anything to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At least you got something out of it

**Author's Note:**

> And this is the fem!Malec version of Magnus’ party. Never, ever let me do such a long rewrite again please -_-

The bikes themselves look like old models, expansive and well-kept, but the veins and arteries sprouting from the hoods leave little doubt as to who –or rather,  _what_ their owners are, and Alec moves to make sure her throwing knives are correctly secured to the inside of her jacket. She’s got a dagger in her left boot, a stele in the other, and three large rings on her right hand will act as knuckles bracers if needed. She’s as prepared as she can be, but she still looks around for vampires while Jace checks the engines out and gives Clary several explanations she probably doesn’t need.

 

“I’ve heard some of those can fly,” Alec says once she’s satisfied no one is spying on them from over a roof –her sensor, in the form of a thin pocket watch, doesn’t detect anything- “Or go invisible. I think the part about them going underwater is probably bull though, I—”

 

Jace doesn’t wait for her to finish speaking before he moves closer to the bikes for further inspection. Alec holds on a sigh and bites at the skin around her middle finger’s nail while Jace fiddles with the vehicle closest to him. She frowns when Jace moves to the second one, but it’s Isabelle who stops their brother when she calls out for them:

 

“I didn’t dress up to stay here and watch you mess around with a bunch of old bikes.” She points at her sequined top and spakling skirt –silver, as always. The color is not one many downworlders favor, which is probably why she wears it so much. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Just admiring pretty things,” Jace answers with a grin –Alec rolls her eyes when he turns to throw a wink at Clary.

“You see me everyday,” Isabelle shoots back, “It’s more than enough. Now can I know if it’s the right building?”

 

From the look on Clary’s face, it’s easy to guess what her answer is going to be –and sure enough, when she says “I think” there’s a question mark in her voice.

 

“They all sort of look the same,” she points out.

 

Alec, who noticed several landmarks already, presses her lips together and says nothing.

The street is still empty, and there’s no reason for them to rush headfirst in a downworlder’s den, but Isabelle grows impatient anyway. She stores her sensor –a modern one- in her bra, calls out for the group to follow her, and strides to the small square of vaguely sheltered concrete serving as an entryway to the red brick warehouse in front of them…only one way to know.

The entry stinks of sulfur and cat piss, the lone lightbulb obscured with dead insects and dirt –it would be easy to break it and spread darkness over the whole street. On her left, Alec notices a row of buzzers, all broken and brown with filth except for the one marked _Bane_.

The other buildings look quiet, neighbors asleep, and the secluded area gives them a decent view of the street… Alec nods to herself and lets Isabelle ring once, twice—catches her wrist before she can go in for the third one. Isabelle glares and sigh, about to argue, but jumps back when the door opens to reveal a tall, golden-skinned woman whose golden-green eyes look at them with surprise.

 

“Are you Magnus Bane?” Isabelle asks, and Jace scoffs:

“Don’t be ridiculous, Magnus is a guy’s name.”

 

Alec closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, and she hears Isabelle swear next to her. The two Mundanes mutter something to one another that she doesn’t have the heart to try and understand. When the opens her eyes again the woman’s lips, painted the same dark shade as her belted shirt, are pursed into an unhappy grimace.

 

“Nephilims,” she sighs, cold enough that even Alec picks up on it, “they always find new ways to be rude.”

 

Alec exchanges a glance with Isabelle, who looks annoyed, and then looks at their host with an apologetic grimace.

Magnus looks surprised, blinking at Alec, but she still picks the invite Isabelle retrieved from her bra with thin, ring-ladden fingers. Alec watches the witch pinch her lips together as she stares at the bristol with a deep frown, clicks her tongue, and mutters something that sounds a lot like “I hate drunk me”.

Alec thinks she sees Magnus’ eyes flicker to her again, and she swallows hard as Magnus opens the door wider.

 

“Get in,” She tells them with a nod –the glittering spikes of her hair shiver with the gesture, “but don’t murder any of my guests.” She pauses to glare at Jace: “And don’t provoke them into getting murdered either.”

“I’m offended you even think I could do that.”

 

Swift as a cat, Magnus plucks Jace’s stele right out of his left hand, where he’s been keeping it since they came in, and shoves it back into his pocket with a firm gesture:

 

“Don’t. Murder. My guests.”

 

Jace stares at Magnus’ retreating back with a slightly takent aback expression, and Alec has to turn away to hide a smirk…Isabelle, for herself, doesn’t even bother to try and disguise her snort.

 

“Don’t piss her off,” Isabelle says as Clary follows Magnus up a flight of creaking stairs, “She’s our only lead.”

“Yeah, I know what I’m doing,” Jace retorts irritably.

 

Alec, bringing her hand behind her back to touch her throwing knives, remembers all the times Jace started a figh because he was bored, and stays silent. The stairway is dimly lit, as is usual for witches and warlocks’ dens, and there’s no window on either side: the only way is up. There’s Kelpie slime on the bannister –Alec recognizes the telltale green glow of it. It’s harmless for most creatures, but deadly poisonous to vouivres and fire spirits, and Alec makes a note to get some on her way out.

Nothing else looks like it could be useful in case of danger.

For all that Magnus seemed surprised to see them, the party is already going strong when they come in. The whole room stinks of sweat and faerie powders, sulfur, and the pervasive stench of cheap alcohol. The bar on the left, made of rusty iron barrels and a wooden plank, might make for a welcome shield if they can get to it…though of course, with the assistance consisting mainly of vampires, Alec isn’t sure they could get to it in time. She looks around and spies at least two nymphs, four ant-men, and a phouka hovering between the shape of a giant, anthropomorphic rabbit and that of a dark-haired man in a leather vest…And of course, the required fairy band.

 

Alec nods when Isabelle signals she’s leaving for the dancefloor, trailing a flustered Simon behind her, and then turns to watch out for Jace…she can’t restrain a surprised laugh when she spots him, trying to pretend he’s not interested in Clary and Magnus’ conversation while hovering around them, alternating between neutral and annoyed expressions when he thinks Clary can’t see him…Alec may not like the little mundane, but she has to admit Jace’s reactions around her can sometimes take a turn for the funnier.

Still smirking, Alec shakes her head and looks around the flat –one wall is entirely made of glass, which Alec is confident she can break through without trouble should the need arise. Isabelle is still dancing with Simon, and she flashes Alec a quick thumb up when they reach the five minutes mark.

She moves through the crowd to try and reach a higher spot –she thinks she saw a sort of podium at the back, near the corridor, and that’s the place she’s trying to reach when a hand squeezes her ass with firm enthusiasm. Reaching blindly, Alec seizes a wrist and then turns around, finding herself face to face with the phouka she noticed earlier, his filed teeth grinning at her.

 

“You lost girlie? You don’t look dressed up for the party!”

“I’m here on business,” Alec answers, twisting the guy’s wrist hard enough to hurt before she pulls her collar down to reveal the edge of a strength rune. “Clave business. Keep your slimy hands to yourself.”

 

He probably thinks Alec doesn’t hear him call her a bitch behind her back, but the truth is that she doesn’t care, too busy looking for Isabelle. She spots her on the dance floor, still pressed against Simon, who looks like he’s about to explode with hormones –Alec snorts and, realizing the podium was only an illusion, she circles the room in order to get back to her starting point.

 

“—holy water into the gas tank of my bike!” a bald vampire hisses as Alec comes up behind Clary, his chubby finger pointing at the witch with unrestrained anger, “All the pipes melted!”

“Melted?” Magnus replies with an unconvincing expression of sorrow, “How dreadful.”

 

From where she is, it’s easy for Alec to notice Magnus’ mouth tightening when the vampire’s head goes from copper to red and he draws himself to his full height. He’s still much shorter than her though, and Magnus doesn’t seem the type to be impressed by physical threats anyway, so his anger falls on death ears as he roars:

 

“I demand to know who did it!” Alec thinks she spots Clary’s eyes going wide as she looks at the man’s mouth—don’t mundanes know about vampire’s fangs? “You swore there wouldn’t be any werewolf here tonight, witch!”

“Don’t ‘witch’ me,” Magnus warns, her voice suddenly cutting, “and don’t presume to tell me what to do, or you might end up too dead to regret it.”

 

Flames swirl up her arms as she speaks, hissing and creaking like the house is on fire, and even Alec is impressed by the display, reaching for her knives for comfort as she checks Isabelle’s position—still on the dancefloor.

The vampire roars and flings himself at Magnus, but before Alec can finish throwing her first knife, he stops in his momentum, head drawn back as if pulled by a leash. The vampire gags, paws at his throat, but no sound comes out. Alec can’t help her smile.

 

“I invited none of the glorified dogs,” Magnus tells the man with articulated coldness, “Precisely because your lot can’t stand them—if you can’t be arsed to keep an eye on your ride it is your problem, not mine. Now get out of my house.”

 

With a flick of her index –adorned with a cat head of gleaming onyx- Magnus sends the vampire flying through the crowd, jostling several dancers in the process. Alec isn’t sure, but she thinks she spots Simon getting out of a mess of faerie limbs, and Isabelle bending backward to avoid the improvised projectile…next to her, Jace only bothers with a slow, lazy clap while Magnus sends Alec a look that makes her want to hide.

She’s not exactly Alec’s type—Clary would fit it more, in terms of looks- but there’s just something about her eyes….

 

“You’re drooling,” Jace comments, jostling Alec out of her thoughts and making her cheeks flare up as she pushes her knife back in the lapels of her jacket. “Not that it’s entirely unwarranted—that was impressive.”

“I know,” Magnus smirks, hooking a finger through the loop on her studded necklace, “some of those divas are really good at flying, uh?”

 

Alec almost chokes on her laughter, but she still draws in enough breath to confess:

 

“It was us, you know—”

“Alec!”

“I mean, the holy wat—ow!”

“Alec, shut up!”

 

Alec glares at her brother, who never kicks so hard as when he’s wearing steel-toed boots, but forgets him entirely when Magnus smirks at her, her eyes sparkling…she’s not so much of a cat, in truth. More like a panther, maybe.

 

“Somehow,” she says with a voice soft as velvet, “I don’t think all of you were involved in that vindictive little prank.”

“Well I’m the only one with balls,” Jace shrugs –Alec barely catches her offence before it can show on her face, and takes a step forward instead.

“Is it true som of those bikes can fly?”

“Now,” Magnus chuckles, “Doesn’t that sound like mundanes’ tales?”

 

Alec’s mouth clicks shut, and she steps backward again even as Jace mouthes ‘nerd’ at her. She bites her thumbnails, and reminds herself to shut up next time. Save herself the humiliation. Still, it almost looks like Magnus is smiling at her when she asks if they came here just so they could annoy her guests.

 

“No,” Alec starts, straightening her posture when she realizes they’re getting to serious questions, “we—”

“We need to talk to you,” Jace cuts in –Alec sees Clary tighten her hold on her backpack, “In private.”

“In private?” Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Am I in trouble with the Clave?”

“Probably n—will you  _stop_  that?”

 

Jace glares right back at Alec, raising his eyebrows in what Isabelle once dubbed the angry owl face before he growls a single ‘no’, looking at Alec like he’s giving the orders here and she’s forgotten…which, to be fair, is partly true –they’ve always been trained with the idea that he would be in the lead. Alec wouldn’t mind it as much if he listened to her and Isabelle more.

 

“We’ll talk to you under the seal of the Covenant,” Jace assures Magnus –it doesn’t look like it’s doing much to reassure her. “If you help us, we’ll keep your secrets.”

“What if, for one reason or another, I don’t help you?”

“Maybe nothing,” Jace shrugs, spreading his arms like that spy in the Mundane movies they used to watch when they were little, “Maybe a visit from the Silent City.”

“Threatening and blackmailing,” Magnus mutters –Alec sees her flex her fingers and frowns, but Magnus stops too fast for the gesture to be worth mentioning. “They teach you younger every year, don’t they little boy?”

“You don’t have a choice either way,” Jace snaps, making good use of his latest growth spurth.

 

He’s almost of a height with Magnus and with a larger built, but she doesn’t give a single inch when he steps in her personal space, smirking as she gestures to a shadowed corridor at the back of her loft instead. Judging from the way Jace scowls as he pushes past her, forgetting even Clary, Alec isn’t the only one who thinks if this had been a fight, Jace would have lost it.

Alec follows Magnus and the others to a room of medium dimensions, curtained with rainbow velvet and adorned with a plush pink-and-purple carpet…Alec thinks she’s seen the colors somewhere else before, but she doesn’t spare much though to it, scanning the room instead. There’s no dead angle, no wardrobe someone could hide in, no obvious weapon…Either Magnus doesn’t care much about her safety, or she thinks magic is enough protection against intruders.

Considering she’s the High Witch of Brooklyn, Alec is willing to think it’s not that foolish an idea.

 

Jace pulls the curtains open, and Alec catches a glimpse of empty flat roofs through the windows, witchlights flooding hem with light… maybe Magnus does think about intruders then. Alec checks her watch –it’s been about ten minutes since the last time she saw Isabelle- then walks to the window. If she leans the right way, she can see the vampire bikes and the balding man bemoaning the loss of his vehicle—the joke was gratuitously nasty, but Alec can’t help smiling at his anger anyway.

She can’t spot any human being out there, but there are several bats hanging from Magnus’ roof just outside the window, and Alec draw her stele out to ward it, but Magnus’ voice stops her:

 

“I have my own wards up, you know.” Alec nods, but can’t help looking at the bats again. “They’re regular bats. I don’t like being spied on.”

 

Alec nods again, more meekly this time—she should probably have thought of that on her own, but then again she’s so used of thinking of warlocks and witches as provocatively promiscuous…she pushes her hair back to give herself some countenance, then crosses her arms against her chest, pulls her watch out, and waits.

Fifteen minutes since she last saw Isabelle.

 

“So,” Magnus sighs after she’s magicked herself a glass of pink wine, “What do you want?”

“It’s—me,” Clary says, stepping out from behind Jace—Alec can’t tell if she’s been staying there on purpose or not, but the effect is…suitably dramatic, she supposes. “I wanted to see you, I…There are questions I need to ask.”

 

Alec only half listens to Clary’s story –how she grew up a Mundane, how her mother always seemed normal, how she never knew there was anything beyond that—the classic tale of any Mundane suddenly crashing the gates of the Shadow World. It’s nothing Alec hasn’t heard before, and the only unexpected spin to Clary’s story isn’t even that she might be staying in that world for good, but the fact that Alec is going to have to handle damage control for her recklessness.

It’s not a task she looks forward to.

 

“You have a sad story to tell,” Magnus agrees after Clary is done speaking, “I’ll give you that, and the fact that you turned out to be one of the Nephilims—a Shadowhunter’s daughter, no less, adds a little twist.” She shrugs, playing with a thin band of white gold on her left ring finger, and looks at Alec as she adds: “But while I don’t find your presence quite as irritating as I expected it to be, I hardly see how this adventure of yours concerns me…it is hardly my job to take care of the Clave’s strays.”

“The Silent Brothers found your name in her mind,” Jace retorts, too sharp to be polite, and Alec bites at the skin around her middle finger, watching her brother set a hand between Clary’s shoulder blades.

 

Magnus’ face turns sour, lips pulling down as she clicks her tongue…Alec is surprised to recognize some of her own mannerism from when a mission doesn’t quite go as planned and she ends up having to wait for Hodge to patch Jace and Isabelle up.

 

“I should have known better,” Magnus sighs, using her two forefingers to massage the bridge of her nose. “Eight hundred years and I’m still making beginners’ mistakes.”

 

Alec watches Magnus draw her hand up in the air in front of her and write her name in bold and angular letters of fire. They look like the old manuscripts Hodge makes them translate sometimes –Latin to English, to Turkish, to German, to Greek.

She frowns.

 

“You signed her mind?”

 

Clary makes a shocked ‘O’ face, but Jace looks unsurprised.

 

“Pride has always been my downfall,” Magnus shrugs as she wipes her name from the air. “The spell was perfect—the balance, the lifespan, the efficiency…there isn’t anything like it in the world, I’ll guarantee,” Magnus continues, getting more animated as she speaks, the spikes of her hair wobbling with each of her moves, “what kind of artist doesn’t sign their masterpiece?”

 

Alec hears Jace mutter something about what he thinks of Magnus’ so-called art, but as the witch explains how the spell she put on Clary’s mind worked, Alec must admit she’s never come across anything that sounded like it. And she did read quite a bit on memory spells that time Hodge though Jace might have memory loss from being knocked out one too many times.

It sounds impressive enough to her.

 

“But why?” Clary asks once Magnus is done speaking –Alec uses her pause to check her watch…twenty minutes. “Why would my mom ask you to put that spell on me—what did she want me to forget about werewolves and vampires and—and everything!”

“Well, everything of course,” Magnus shrugs. “Runes, Downworlders, Faeries…the scars of a life she didn’t want anymore. You were barely walking when she brought you in the first time—a chả giò in a green blanket.”

 

Alec frowns, unable to conjure a mental image for that…it reassures her to notice neither Clary nor Jace seem to get the reference any better than she does, but she still wishes she wouldn’t feel so thrown out of her depths. It’s been almost twenty-five minutes since she last checked on Isabelle.

They rarely go that long without a signal when they’re on a mission, and it makes Alec nervous, but when she tries to get Jace’s attention, he either doesn’t notice her or ignores her.

 

“She told me she’d hoped you’d been born with a blind Inner Eye,” Magnus continues after a pause. “The condition isn’t that rare, after all, and with the number of Nephilims travelling out of their country to breed with Mundanes, it’s only increasing.”

 

Magnus smirks, a satisfied kind of amusement spreading on her thin, smooth-looking lips, and Alec thinks of her brother Max and his namesake. She wonders if they have cousins somewhere,  who don’t know more about the Clave and their ancestors than Clary does. She’s always suspected the Clave tried to keep the children of desertors away from their kin though, maybe to avoid any new departures, maybe to start new bloodlines. Nephilims aren’t that numerous on the whole, and Shadowhunters are even smaller a community. Any number of blood relatives marrying one another, even by accident, could have disastrous consequences on their gene pool.

 

“Of course by the time she came to me your mother knew perfectly well you had no trouble seeing what remains invisible to Mundane eyes,” Magnus explains, shrugging and taking a sip of her wine, “so she asked me if I could blind you –figuratively speaking, obviosuly.”

 

Clary’s back is to Alec so she can’t see her face, but the way she straightens up and steps away from Magnus, a hand halfway to her mouth, suggests she’s probably appaled –because of the action or the wording? Alec can’t tell, and doesn’t really care. If she does end up staying with them –which Alec still hopes won’t happen- Clary will soon learn better than to leave her heart open for all to see.

 

“Of course when I told her that would most likely get you a straight pass to an insane’s asylum, she changed her mind—she didn’t cry though, which was a welcome surprise… Shadowhunters may play tough all they want but they thave a tendency to break down over the most ridiculous things sometimes.”

“I don’t suppose a witch would know much about family love,” Jace mutters –Alec is about sure he knows everyone heard him, and this time she doesn’t try to disguise her disapproval, but Magnus simply ignore him and concludes:

“All she had to do to get the desired result was to bring you here every two years…well, and pay, of course, but that was settled two visits ago.”

“And did she?” Clary asks.

“Do you have any evidence of the contrary?” Magnus sighs, eyes rising to the ceiling. “She never missed a visit until now—I was wondering if she’d finally decided to tell you all about it. She was starting to consider the option, now that you were getting too old to be lured here with promises of ice cream and new crayons.”

“So you only pretended not to recognize Clary when we came in,” Jace points out –Alec bites at the skin around her thumb nail again. This is derailing the conversation, and it’s been thirty minutes now since the last time she saw Isabelle. A lot can happen in thirty minutes. “Didn’t you?”

“Well of course I did,” Magnus sighs, loudly. She sounds like Isabelle does when she wants to smack Jace upside the head. “Believe it or not, but few people actually let a witch near their children, Mundane or otherwise…but she was with you, which meant I didn’t want to talk to her. And beside, there was always a chance she wouldn’t realize who I was and I’d keep a good client.” She smirks. “Renewals are cheaper than the first spell, but they pay for a longer time.”

 

Clary gasps, genuinely flabbergasted this time. Alec unhitches herself from the window –one last look confirms there’s still no one in the street below- and moves toward the door while still keeping an ear out for Clary’s latest ‘Mundanisms’, as Isabelle dubbed them.

 

“So you care more about money than about my memories?” She asks –even Alec has to snort at that, but it’s Jace who tells her:

“Witches and warlocks are notoriously heartless and greedy. It won’t surprise you after a while.”

“Witches and warlocks make business,” Magnus snaps. “When you’ve been alive and fighting as long as I have, you learn to prioritize…I’m not ashamed to say I care more about my own fate than whether or not your girlfriend remembers the pixies in her garden.”

“Alright,” Clary pushes out after a short but tense silence, “I don’t have time for a debate on ethical behavior so—if you were to take it off—”

“Oh, I can’t do that,” Magnus cuts in, and downs what’s left of her wine before she walks over to a book case settled over her bed.

 

Jace, neck growing red and hand on the bone hilt of his angel blade, takes a step forward, and Alec reaches for her own knives –nothing ever goes well when Jace starts a sentence with ‘the Clave requires’. Once again though, Magnus seems to have the matter firmly in hand, and she doesn’t even bother turning around as she waves her fingers. Blue flames catch Jace in the middle, and toss him in a beanbag the same yellow color as Magnu’s blankets.

 

“I don’t like being told what to do, little boy.”

 

Jace practically turns purple, and Alec decides to nip that fight in the bud.

 

“Is it too hard to undo then?” She asks, her hand still on her throwing knives, her neck growing stiff with nerves, “Can’t you just…I don’t know, pull it out?”

 

Anything so she can go back to the party and find her sister. It’s been forty-five minutes, and there’s a telltale buzzing in Alec’s chest, Isabelle’s intake of alcohol strong enough that it’s carrying over through their parabatai bond…Alec will not leave her drunk-off-her-ass sister alone in a crowd of people who hate her with a groping phouka thrown in the mix.

This kind of situation can only end in blood.

 

“Only if I want to take half of her mind along with it,” Magnus shrugs. “Memory spells take root in the subject’s mind after a time. When they’re as complex as this one, either they can fade on their own, or they’re better left alone.” She pulls a book out of its shelf and walks back toward Clary, indicating she should sit. “This one will be gone in a couple of weeks.”

“Will I get my memories back then?” Clary presses, frowning.

“Maybe,” Magnus replies with a one-shouldered shrug, “maybe not. This spell is one of a kind, you know. The only way to know how it’ll fade is to wait for it to actually fade.”

“But I don’t want to wait!”

 

Clary’s voice is shrill and her muscles are tense, hands closed into fists. She reminds Alec of Max, back when he was a baby on the edge of a tantrum. Though, admittedly, Clary has more reasons to be mad. It doesn’t make her attitude any more agreeable, but it does help explain it, and helps Alec hide her impatience.

They’ve been in there for nearly fifty minutes now.

 

“All my life I’ve felt like there was something wrong with me,” Clary all but pleads, “Something strange or damaged, and now I know—”

“Oh, get over yourself!” Magnus snaps. “I didn’t damage you, life did. You’re a teenage girl, everything out there is designed to make you feel bad. If you think being a Shadowhunter makes you unique you should think again, because I can guarantee you’re going to meet dozens of people who behave just like that knucklehead of yours.”

 

Alec is worried Jace try to get into a fight with Magnus when she nods at him, but he seems too flabbergasted by her use of the word ‘knucklehead’, and he doesn’t have time to say anything before she continues:

 

“Besides, you wouldn’t want to be unique anyway. It’s not as great as you Mundanes try to make it sound.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be unique?” Jace asks, puzzled.

 

It’s true that he is one of a kind, and he’s never gotten anything but praise out of it. But Alec and Izzy are unique, too, in a different way, and if she should tell her story it wouldn’t sound like Jace’s at all.

 

“Oh, everyone wants to be unique,” Magnus sneers, “But they only ever wants the good kind…it gets a lot less funny when you’re born with these in a community of bloody bigots.” Magnus spits out, pointing at her eyes.

 

Her back is to Alec now, but it’s easy to remember the chartreuse green, the vertical pupils, the intensity in her gaze. They’re fascinating and they shine like gemstones when the light hits them right.

 

“Mundanes like you are always convinced different is better until they realize  _real_ difference is rarely met with worship—only with hate. The lot of them,” Magnus adds, indicating Jace with a sweeping gesture, “Will try to convince you it’s better to be hated than to be pitied, but they have the Law on their side and people willing to support them. Your mother didn’t. Never forget that.”

“I don’t care about being different,” Clary insists after a pause, looking shocked but still determined. “I just want to be myself is all.”

“Welcome to the bloody club!” Magnus retorts irritably, then shoves her book at Clary. “There, take a look at that page. It’ll help.”

 

It’s been an hour since she’s last heard of Isabelle, but Alec can’t help taking a step forward when she realizes what’s on the pages.

 

“It’s a copy fo the Gray Book!” She exclaims, restraining herself from reaching for it at the last minute. “Hodge has one –he showed it to me."

 

The fact that no one aknowledges Alec’s remark doesn’t exactly surprise her, any more than seeing Jace busy explaining what the Gray book is for and where it comes from to Clary –Alec is even surprised to hear information she didn’t remember about the book, but she doesn’t comment on it.

She moves around the room instead, leaving Clary to her careful contemplation of runes, and walks closer to Magnus with her heart beating in her throat –she’s not even sure she believes her own audacity until she leans up to the witch’s ear and says:

 

“For the record, I think your eyes are beautiful.”

 

Magnus’ eyebrow, when she raises it, is nothing short of skeptical.

 

“You’d be the first Nephilim to think so.”

“I think a lot of Nephilims would agree your eyes look good if you weren’t a witch,” Alec replies, and Magnus grimaces. Heat spreads through Alec’s face faster than she even realizes the blunder she’s just made. “I’m sorry”, she stutters, “That’s a stupid thing to say, I—”

“It’s stupid but it’s on point,” Magnus dismisses, a lot more gently than Alec expected, “And it isn’t as if I weren’t used to it already.”

 

Alec, convinced her ears are going to catch fire, nods again and steps away from Magnus, pulling skin off her nails with her teeth while checking her watch. An hour and five minutes –and now she’s even more anxious to get back to the party.

 

“I do appreciate the thought though,” Magnus says quietly.

 

Alec nods again, her free hand rubbing at the back of her neck, and she gives herself a mental kick for her own stiffness as soon as Magnus stops looking at her. She doesn’t get why she feels so nervous all of a sudden, but she wishes it would stop.

Meanwhile, Magnus has plucked the Gray book out of Clary’s hands, without listening to her protest, and Clary pouts.

 

“I still don’t remember anything about the Mortal Cup.”

 

Somehow, Alec is fairly certain Magnus doesn’t look that surprised very often.

 

“Is that what all of this is about?” She asks, incredulous. “You’re after the Angel’s Cup? All you had to do was ask, I would have told you there was nothing there” –she points at Clary’s head- “about the Mortal Instruments.”

“The Mortal Instruments?” Clary asks, “But I thought….”

 

Jace starts explaining her what the Mortal Instruments are but Alec, who knows the story by heart already, doesn’t pay attention to them and fishes her sensor out of her pocket instead. It doesn’t detect anything strange, but she still wants to get back to the party—find Isabelle and make sure she’s alright.

 

“It’s only the Cup we’re after,” Jace concludes after a while. “Valentine is looking for it.”

“And you’re sincerely hoping to get to it before he does?” Magnus asks with a dubious frown. “A bunch of kids against—”

“How do you know who Valentine is?” Jace asks, growing suspicious –beside him, Clary looks completely lost, which, for once, Alec doesn’t blame her for. She herself is starting to feel a headache build up between her temples.

“I was at the Uprising,” Magnus replies, the ‘duh’ clear in her voice. “High Witch of Brooklyn, remember? I had to be there for the Accords.”

“So you killed Nephilims,” Alec says –it’s a statement, not a question, and she’s not entirely sure how she feels about it, but Magnus only squints at her.

“It was a battle. People die in those.” She smiles, but it feels more like a razor this time.

“They were Circle members anyway,” Clary pipes up, “Right? Not regular Shadowhunters.”

“Of course,” Magnus agrees, sitting on her bed, “Everyone knows the rest of the Nephilims love Downworlders. Almost as much as Mundanes, uh?” Clary falls silent.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Jace dismisses after a moment of looking torn –thankfully, even he isn’t so rash as to attack a powerful witch with nothing but a knife in a place filled to the brim with vampires and faeries- “All we want is the Cup.”

“I gathered that,” Magnus sighs –she waves her hand and her glass of wine fills itself again. “But I won’t help you. I have no idea where the Cup is, and if I did I certainly wouldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Clary asks, sounding puzzled, “Don’t you want to protect Downworlders?”

“Of course,” Magnus tells her with a poison-sweet smile, “Which is why I would prefer it greatly if neither the Clave nor Valentine had the Cup. This way  _he_  can’t wipe us out, and  _they_ can't hunt us for sport.” She shrugs and sips at her glass before adding: “Of course, if hard-pressed, I would pick the Clave. I’m a survivor at heart, after all, but I would be lying if I pretended to have any fondness for Idris and its inhabitants.” She shrugs and drains her glass. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my guests before they start devouring each others.”

 

Alec barely has time to catch Jace’s shoulder and press as hard as she can before he starts being really antagonistic—she knows that face too well. It’s as easy for her to read as if Jace had gotten a tattoo on his forehead that said “prepare for Trouble”. Still holding her brother back, Alec asks:

 

“Do you think he might try that again? Valentine, I mean. Do you think he could try to create a second Uprising?”

“He’s done it before,” Magnus replies, looking at Jace with narrowed eyes, “and even though it failed, Valentine didn’t strike me as the kind of man who deals very well with such a humiliating defeat.” She turns away from them, and Jace mutters in Alec’s ear:

“Let me go, before I make you.”

 

Alec releases her grip on her shoulder, having no desire for a fight just now. She hurries after Magnus, frowning when she recognizes the scent of fae pollen in the air –if everyone here is high on the stuff, the party could go tremendously well, or trememdously wrong. She doesn’t see any sign of Isabelle.

 

“Where’s Izzy?” She asks Jace, pushing his shoulder when he ignores her in favor of Clary. “Jace, where’s Isabelle?”

“I don’t know, she was frotting with the Mundane the last time I saw her,” Jace shrugs, “Look in a dark corner, she might be ravishing him by now.”

 

Alec has a number of things to say to that, none of which are particularly happy or nice, but they fly out of her head the moment she spots Izzy walking across the dancefloor. She’s swaying a little with the drink, and the brown of her face is tinged with red now, but she looks unharmed, and happy enough.

Alec calls her name and waves her over, then adds:

 

“And watch out for the phouka!”

“Watch out for the phouka?”

 

Alec didn’t hear Magnus come up behind her, but she manages not to jump.

 

“He groped me earlier,” she explains, feeling too hot again. “It’s nothing, just not—”

“Just not something I tolerate in my house,” Magnus mutters –Alec isn’t sure she’s meant to have heard her. “Excuse me.”

 

Alec watches Magnus disappear into the crowd –is it just her or is it getting more cramped in there?- just as Isabelle finally reaches them, stumbling over a couple of discarded glasses and gripping Alec’s shoulder as soon as she’s within reach.

 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she says –there isn’t too much of a slurr in her voice, and her clothes are still in place, but she shrinks away when Alec tries to check her eyes, “Stop it, no one roofied me, I just forgot to eat—”

“Don’t bother,” Jace says from behind them, “You know Nanny Alec won’t rest until she’s sure your diaper doesn’t need changing.”

“Nanny Alec keeps your ass safe, buttface,” Isabelle replies—Alec is about to tell her to stay silent, when Clary steps closer to them with a worried look on her face:

“Where’s Simon?”

 

Alec looks away from her to scan the crowd with a frown. If they lose the Mundane they’ll get in trouble with the Clave, and she’d rather avoid that.

 

“He’s a rat,” Isabelle giggles.

“What did he do?” Alec asks, all her attention going back to Isabelle, “Does Jace need to punch him?”

 

It’d be easy to convince him and spare herself some trouble. It’s easy to tell he doesn’t like the way Simon trails after Clary like a lost puppy.

 

“Simon is not a rat,” Clary protests, “And no one is punching him!”

“I meant a literal rat,” Isabelle corrects with a sigh, “Took one of the faerie drink even though I told him not to, and voila.”

“Great,” Alec grunts, pulling her stele our of her pocket to draw a mind-clearing rune over Isabelle’s shoulder, “if the Clave learns about that we’re going to be in trouble, you know the Covenant disapproves—”

“Technically she didn’t do anything though,” Jace points out with a smirk and a nonchalant shrug. “It’s negligence, at worst.”

“For you it would be,” Alec replies, “but we—”

“I don’t care if Isabelle goes to Shadowhunter juvie!” Clary exclaims, her voice surprisingly loud for someone as tiny as she is, “My best friend is a rat!”

“We got that,” Jace assures her, “We’ll find him—”

“There’s no need to  _find_  him,” Isabelle retorts, massaging her head –mind-clearing runes have a tendency to hurt when used to sober someone up, and Isabelle is particularly sensitive to them. “I know where he is! He ran off under the bar so stop yelling.”

“Bitch!” Clary spits as she leaves to dive into the crowd.

 

Jace catches Alec’s arm before she can go after Clary, and shakes his head the same way he does when he wants to say something isn’t worth fighting about. It’s not the first time he does that: it happens just about every time they have guests –those have a nasty tendency to doubt Isabelle’s worth based on what she does in her free time- but this time Alec pulls her arm free.

 

“She insults your sister and you don’t even—” But Jace, already stalking off after Clary, doesn’t hear her.

“I hate it when he starts being a douche,” Isabelle mutters. “I hope she leaves soon so he can be tolerable again.”

 

Alec snorts before she can even think of holding it in.

When they reach the bar after struggling through the crowd, Clary is kneeling on the ground with a large brown rat clutched to her chest, cooing and promising him they’ll get Magnus so he can be turned back as soon as possible. Alec doesn’t know if she sounds more like a mom with a baby or an old lady with a pet, but the sight is sickening anyway.

 

“Don’t be so hasty,” Jace tells Clary, “He’s probably never been that close to second base.” Alec hears Isabelle snort beside her.

“You think Jace is wrong?”

“No, both of them are as virginal as they come,” she giggles in Alec’s ear, “Which is what makes the sight of a jealous Jace so deliciously ironic.”

 

Both of them laugh, stiffling the sound behind their hands as Clary glares at them –the effect is greatly downplayed by the dustballs caught in her hair though, and while both Alec and Isabelle sober up almost instantly, neither of them go so far as to fake contrition.

 

“Izzy,” Jace tosses over his shoulder, “Go fetch our magnificent host.”

“Why me?” Izzy protests automatically, cheeks reddening.

“Because it’s your fault the Mundane’s a rat, idiot. We can’t leave him here.”

“You didn’t care about him until she did,” Isabelle points out, jabbing a finger toward Clary. She turns around though, and strides away—Alec is fairly sure she hears her say something about Jace and being turned into a rat.

“I can’t believe she let you drink that thing,” Clary tells her pet, making Alec’s jaw clench. Who does she think they are, his babysitters? “That’s what you get for being so shallow.”

 

The rat squeaks, and Alec is seriously considering telling Clary where she can shove her opinion of Isabelle, when someone’s hand settles on her shoulder. Turning around, she finds her sister, still looking furious with her mouth tightly shut.

 

“Please,” she grits out while Magnus goes to examine the rat, “tell me I’m not that bad when I’m trying to get a guy.”

“If you were, I’d punch you,” Alec replies on the same tone, and Isabelle relaxes.

“What do you mean ‘no point’?” Clary shouts, jostling them out of their conversation, “he can’t stay a rat forever!”

“And he won’t,” Magnus sighs, rolling her eyes and looking very much like she’d rather be somewhere else –Alec can’t say she blames her just now. “But Mundanes don’t handle magic well so unless you want me to traumatize him….”

“But I can’t take a rat home on the subway,” Clary almost whines. “What if I drop him? What if I get arrested for travelling with a pest?”

“Put him in your backpack and use a glamour,” Alec suggests, crossing her arms on her chest. “It’s not that long a ride.”

 

Clary pulls a face, but it doesn’t take her long to realize it’s the best solution to her problem, and she finally picks her bag to set the rat inside. She’s zipping it closed when Magnus groans, mutters ‘not again’, and excuses herself toward the door, leaving Alec and the others alone.

Clary looks absolutely miserable as she settles Simon among her belongings, and Alec raises her eyes to the ceiling. Fussy people are the worst –and with siblings like Jace and Isabelle, she knows a lot about fussy people. What did Clary want anyway? A three-star rat bedroom?

 

“I’m so sorry Simon,” Clary sniffles after a while, and this time even Jace lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Stop apologizing for something you’re not responsible for—you didn’t force the drink down his stupid throat.” He scoffs. “Mundanes, I swear.”

 

Alec clears her throat, abruptly uncomfortable. She knows what it’s like to feel responsible for someone’s safety –sure, Clary isn’t exactly rational about it and Alec seriously hopes she’s never appointed actual guardian to anyone, but she can at least relate to the sentiment.

 

“He came here because of me,” Clary explains, her voice almost drowned in the music.

“He came here because of  _Isabelle_ ,” Jace scoffs, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Clary snaps.

 

Alec hears the sound of Isabelle facepalming rather violently beside her, and when Jace looks at them she narrows her eyes and mouthes: “really?” at him. He only shrugs though, and steers Clary toward the exit. Alec sighs, briefly pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers, then follows her brother and his pet.

She’s somewhat surprised to discover a group of angry vampires complaining about their missing friends. Magnus, towering above the crowd by a good head at least, looks like she’s seconds away from tossing them through the door, same as she did with the other vampire from earlier. In any case, it doesn’t seem like the disappearance of some vampires troubles her much.

 

“They probably passed out somewhere. Have you looked around for bats? Piles of dust?”

“We’re not going to go around picking dust an hope it turns out to be Gregor in the morning,” a girl protests, the pearls around her twists clicking as she shakes her head.” She looks alive, flushes with anger, even. The drinks she had tonight were probably more bloody than Mary.

“Well that’s too bad,” Magnus retorts, “you and your friends could have sweeped for me.” Alec bites her lips to hide a smirk. “Don’t worry, I haven’t touched a broom in ages… I’ll send Gregor and the other lost and found at the hotel tomorrow. In a blacked out car, of course.”

 

The vampires look at each other with dubious expressions and Alec is reminded that even among Downworlders, warlocks and witches don’t have the best reputation. Several members of the group throw nasty looks her way, and Alec thinks she hears a couple of people call her a bitch. She glares at the whole crowd.

 

“Alright, this is it,” Magnus snaps, raising flaming hands, “party over! Everyone go home!”

 

The music stops with a lound clang, and people start shouting in complaint, voices rising high and fangs slipping out from under sneering lips –Alec moves to retrieve a knife from her jacket, but before she needs to use it Magnus sends sparks flying toward the vampires, and the guests all hurry to the exit, stepping over each other and shoving one another down the stairs. Alec is setting her knife back in place when Magnus turns toward her, frowning.

 

“It’s the third time you get you weapon out while people threaten me…do you think I need protection, or are all Shadowhunters so excited for a good slaughter?”

“What?” Alec asks, eyes widening, “No I—I don’t like angry crowdd, okay? And my brother has a talent to pick up fights so….”

 

Alec doesn’t even have time to finish her sentence before she spots Jace at the door, an arm around Clary’s shoulders as he stares a vampire down and away from her. Alec hears Isabelle come up behind her and scoff.

 

“He doesn’t bat an eyelid when people insult us but Raziel forbid anyone even smile at his snack the wrong way,” she mutters, arms crossed over her chest. “I swear, boys are pathetic.”

“Are you lot on your way out as well then?” Magnus asks, startling Alec.

“We don’t want to overstay our welcome,” Jace replies, pointing at the last disappearing guests in the hallway.

“You’re assuming you were welcome in the first place,” Magnus deadpans, “which you weren’t. Luckily some of your friends compensate for your poor company.”

 

Alec’s eyes widen when Magnus turns to her with a charming smile, full of sharp-looking teeth.

 

“Call me?”

 

Alec feels herself flush redder than ever, and she runs a hand through her hair before rubbing at her neck, stuttering like an idiot until Isabelle catches her by the arm, vaguely thanks Magnus for the party, and pulls her toward the bottom of the stairs, muttering something about pretty girls and being ridiculous –Alec isn’t quite listening to her yet.

Jace is right behind them, and when they settle at the bottom of the stairs, he immediately leans back against the railing –it’s his most flattering pose- and pretends not to be waiting for Clary. Outside, the comotion of many guests leaving at the same time is slowly dying down, the unharmed motorcycles roaring like the devil as they leave.

Jace’s eyes never move away from Magnus’ door.

 

“But soft,” Isabelle throws at him, “what light through yonder staircase breaks?” She turns and points at the door, pretending to be amazed: “It is Brooklyn, and Clary is a miraculously unbroken streetlight!”

 

Alec tries to disguise her laughter into a coughing fit, but given Jace’s expression she’s failing –still, she can’t help but agree with Isabelle’s interpretation of the situation. The smell of tequila still clings to her, and she’s still vaguely tipsy, but the rune had done its job and she’s not as drunk as she could be anymore.

 

“You can make fun of me all you want,” Jace answers, his voice cold, “I’m not the one who could have gotten the Mundane killed.”

“He’s just a rat!” Isabelle protests, good mood vanishing instantly –Alec glares at Jace, who shrugs. “He’ll be back to his normal state in a few hours, no need to be an ass about it.”

 

Jace, still propped against the railing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, doesn’t seem to listen or care—Alec isn’t sure, but she thinks she sees him smirk at Isabelle’s now fuming expression. She knows if she says something now, it’ll end up with a full on fight, so she ignores Jace, and turns to Isabelle instead. She’s turned around toward he wall, and when Alec bends toward her she’s surprised to find her looking upset.

 

“It’s not your fault,” she tells her sister, a bit puzzled. “Next time we won’t let a mundane tag along to a Downworlders’ party, that’s all.

“I don’t care about that,” Isabelle snaps—Alec is about certain it’s not fully true, but she lets it slide. “I wouldn’t have let him get wounded anyway. He’s alright, for a Mundane.”

“Well then, no need to be upset,” Alec tells her in a soothing voice. “We’ll just go home and laugh about this, and it’ll be over. Come on, let’s get a head start.”

 

She pulls Isabelle away from the railing and they start walking down the street side by side, Isabelle rubbing at her eyes and smearing make up all over her hands, sniffing.

 

“Why do I bother with champagne,” she spits out, “I know it makes me weepy.”

“I don’t know,” Alec teases, “I like the raccoon’s eyes.”

 

Isabelle shoves her lightly, but she smiles this time, and they both chuckle, looking up to the sky.

 

“Well, tonight was a complete disaster, wasn’t it?” Alec sighs at the orange glow of streetlights, “We don’t have any new information, no new lead on the Mortal Cup, and no help from Magnus. Talk about useless investigations.”

“Well,” Isabelle says in her reasonable tone, “you  _did_  get a date out of it.”

 

Alec almost gives herself wiplash turning around to check if Jace can hear them –but he and Clary are quite far behind, and she relaxes minutely. She still lowers her voice before she answers Isabelle though.

 

“She magicked her number in my jean pockets, we don’t have a  _date_.”

“Of course,” Isabelle replies, “There’s no way she wants you to call her about a date, she can only want to discuss the values of hortensia as a potion ingredient.”

“Garden plants rarely make good potions though,” Alec remarks. “They’re better for balms.”

“I was being sarcastic, Alec! Of course she was asking you out.”

 

Alec wants to answer her, but then Jace’s voice cuts through the air as he calls out for them:

 

“Go on ahead, we’ll catch up later!”

“Can’t he wait until we’re home to start making out with her?” Isabelle sighs, annoyed.

“You know Jace,” Alec replies, waving back at their brother, “Patience isn’t his strong suit.”

“People aren’t his strong suit,” Isabelle mutters. “I can’t believe he didn’t even frown when she called me a bitch.”

“I suppose he was too concentrated on presenting his best profile to do that,” Alec replies on the same tone. “I don’t think he’s used to be seen from so far below.”

 

Isabelle’s laughter echoes against the walls of the subway station, and Alec can’t help grinning at her own stupid joke—it’s gratuitously mean to Clary, she knows, but sometimes venting feels good.

 

“Did you see his face when she got the rat though?” Isabelle laughs while they wait for the train. “I though his teeth were going to shatter.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Alec replies.

 

On impulse, she musses her hair, pulls her collar up and adopts and exagerate pout, taking on an offended pose:

 

“Why would she look at him when I’m right here—look at the idiot, he’s literally a rat, and he doesn’t even  _dress_  well!”

 

Isabelle laughs so hard she has to bend over at the middle, and the old man next to her looks positively panicked when can’t see what hit him. Isabelle laughs harder at the sight, and Alec doesn’t prevent herself from joining in this time, letting her nerves seep out of her.

Maybe the night wasn’t such a disaster after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and reviews give me life ;)


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